Cruel Seduction
by ParanomalLove
Summary: Time-travel Romance fic. Rose ventures back into the 16th century where Adrian is the king of Britain and wants her for himself.
1. Chapter 1

Cruel Seduction- Chapter One

The smell of salt when deprived of the cold waters was strangely addictive. I found myself standing at the edge of the sea, my muscles feeling scarily atrophied. I watched as the sea ambiguous shape, starting to rise and pooled over at my feet. The winds were beating hard at my face, my hair flailing at all directions.

Then, I stared up at the nearby tree, the shadows dark and looking dangerously close to flying off. I wondered, how would it feel, to fly, knowing freedom and be able to love freely. My throat constricted, my eyes started to sting and hurt, the aftereffect of not, crying for a long time.

I glanced up at the sky, bathing in its warm glory as the sun starts to set; I had no doubt my eyes had taken a strange mystic glow as I mulled over the plaintive pink and orange glow of sunset that was slowly being drawn a pervasive silver veil of moonlight. And it was during that moment when the last ruddy rays of the sunset brighten momentarily before yielding to twilight that I etched closer.

* * *

It was dark everywhere, Eddie Castile was wandering on the school grounds, desperately searching for his best mate Rose. Their small little affectionate group of best buddies had overheard Dimitri, Rose's mentor, and Tasha Ozera conversation, implicating of her offer to him to be her guardian.

Rose had left without a glance, her face solemn and angry. However, Tasha's rapturous mood was unaffected. When Eddie spotted Rose at her dorm, he casually spoke of that matter, indicating his thoughts and premonition that Dimitri would accept that offer. Call him dumb of whatsoever, but he didn't notice of Rose's sudden erratic breathing and her tearful eyes. Neither did he notice her fists that are wound tightly together.

Mayhap that was his mistake, being too oblivious to his friend's feelings. Now, he was pacing and fraught with dubious thoughts and misguided feelings. The gods laugh, anticipating at the things that were to unfold.

* * *

The lapping ice-cold waters were reaching to my mid-thigh. I briefly wondered, honestly, what was I doing. The ferocious winds seem to ride with the waters, like a woman with its last breath straddling a man. The sand was silky smooth, dripping through my toes like liquid gold, surrounding, and never ending.

I was going to spread my legs wider, to have a more stable footing, but the seas took that opportunity to ride me with them, closing up, holding me in. I fall into the water, holding on to my quick breath and went up to the surface to breathe. But they don't allow, sucking me in, the waves rolled over, high and mighty, gushing at my head, and I found water entering my nostrils.

I felt choked, I can't see, only feeling the water, blood thundered in my ears. I didn't want to die, not really. When I first edged along the surface, I might have a thought about it, but it was just a jest. People usually joked about their deaths, and the infamous Rose Hathaway was going to die, by drowning and asphyxiation. I kicked at my legs, my chest burned so much, and my lungs felt like bursting. I opened my mouth, probably because of my oxygen deprived brain can't think anymore, and the water gushed in, flooding my esophagus and windpipe.

Everything seemed to playing out in slow motion, the seas, the desperation, the love of my life, the drowning. Finally after what felt like hours, I relaxed. My muscles tired and…I don't know how to explain, but I just wanted to rest and sleep…

21st April 1509

It was during the reign of King Adrian Ivashkov, who succeeded the throne shortly after his father's death. He was 22 years old then. Known for his promiscuity and notorious affairs with women, many authors and historians were vaguely interested.

* * *

King Adrian was bored. Grooms and ushers had long prepared His Majesty garments the last eve, ensuring all his apparel were warmed, and were on hand to assist the eight Gentlemen as they went about dressing His Highness. The eight Gentlemen were the only servants allowed to lay hand on his Royal person, given the highest honor as they worked with great delicacy and sensitivity. The king yawned as they dressed him in a loose silk shirt that was embroidered with gold, and then silk nether hose fastened with a garter, and then trunk hose, also of silk. At his waist the King usually wore a bejeweled dagger and sword, while around his neck hung either a medallion or diamond. His colors were purple, gold, silver and green- colors that the lower classes were forbidden to wear, even if they could afford such finery- and today he wore purple, the corresponding jerkin brought forth.

Next, Sir Simon indicated for an usher, who stepped forward, the light of the bumbling fire behind him, and proffered the doublet that Simon slipped over the king's shoulders then knelt to fasten.

* * *

The beautiful place at Darenth were bustling and jostling as they welcomed summer. However, their joy was short founded as they discovered a body. A healer was brought forth, with herbs in a basket and eyes wide with worry. Lady Margaret had never seen such a case before, since drowning was inevitable and deemed possessed by the devil to do such an evil thing.

She kneeled beside the body, as the other women formed a circle to prevent the men from seeing, the young woman was scantily clad and with her clothes wet, she might as well be nude. She placed a hand at her wrist, feeling the faint pulse and slightly bit her lower lip. This is a difficult case.

* * *

I could feel someone shaking me and forcing my mouth open. I didn't want to wake up, uncomfortable by the annoying buzz of noises. The water was forcing its way from my windpipe and up my throat. I couldn't breathe, I just want to sleep, but the faint tingle won't let me off, it keeps pushing and pushing till-

I choke and puke out the seawater, distantly hearing the faint sigh of relief. I opened my bleary eyes, taking in the different faces of women, and vaguely wondering if I was rescued by a group of people from the drama club or something. They were dressed in 16th century dresses, with high collared Victorian dresses that is trimmed with white laces, with high bonnets perched on the head.

And that was all I remembered before I lose consciousness.

* * *

Author's Confessions:

This is a time-travel romance. Starring at the reign of King Henry VIII, during the 1509s. I do know i have a couple of stories that are undone, but I am still writing and drafting. Patience is gold. I had taken a few words here and there from the book, **Henry VIII : Wolfman by A.E. Moorat**

Please Read This :

**This story is not following the history of king Henry VIII, and any this work is ficticious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, places is purely coincidental.**

**Acknowledgements: **

**Characters that you can indentify from the vampire academy novels do belong to Richelle Mead, i do not hold any rights over them and any form of the publication, Henry VIII : Wolfman By A.E Moorat that can be indentify in this story solely belongs to him. **


	2. Desperation

**Cruel Seduction**

Chapter Two- Desperation

Hot embers and coals were burning in the hearth, though dimmed but not exactly diminished. The warmth was almost too low, as if the people in the room were just seconds away from getting frozen. That was the way it was at Darenth, just south-east of Dartford town.

Living in a barely-standing cottage that was a women's community, this was undoubtedly scorned because women were supposed to be weak and dependent on men. Lady Margaret was the supposed leader in this small group of women consist of widows, young girls escaping marriages, and a few who nobody had a clue of their past. Rose was one of them.

Surviving with them for a year was not hard, but the British accent was certainly growing on her. At the first time, Rose couldn't really understand what they were talking about. High tea was common in England but not of America, however, she was starting to take a delight on it. Because it mean break times and though the tea was that of tea leaves boiled again and again, added with a lot of water. During that time, there was no coffee or even coffee bean. It was only during the 19th century when Industrial Revolution started and a lot more capable machines were invented.

The tea barely had any taste, and sugar and cream was only provided necessities to those of aristocracy. Cakes were only baked twice a week, and sometimes, strawberries squashed were used as toppings, which were only used during those important dates. These dates included birthdays of any fellow women within the group, or special marked holidays.

The first time Rose had awoken from her drown-induced sleep, she had been sure this was some kind of lunacy and joke. But the women had regarded her as the joke. Wrapped only in linen and very scratchy cheap cotton blanket, despite speaking with a foreign accent and bewilderment, she was treated with care and respect.

She had understood she was the stranger here. There were a few months when she had tried to ask from Lady Margaret where she was and her friends. The waves and sea, followed by drowning was not lost to her but she had briefly wondered if it was just a dream. Almost every women or men in passing were dressed in 16th century peasants clothing. Women were plainly dressed and the hemline of the dress was visible underneath the white apron. The gown-which doesn't looked like one-consisted of different layers of clothing, starting with the chemise that are cut into triangles as to sew the sleeves, gusset, side seam and gore in one long seam. Next is followed by the kirtle, the gown, partlet, jacket then the black wool shoulder cape. These are those dressing worn by lower classes, and over here, Rose was one of them.

Confusion was one of those familiar emotions she had felt. This wasn't real. A few weeks ago, she would still irrevocably believe that she was truly lost to her home in America. This depressing thought had led to Lissa, Eddie and Dimitri. Lost her friends and lover, abandon in a foreign land would seem to be a much worse way other than committing suicide.

Rose wasn't a coward and not fond of ending her life just like that. She had wondered in the night, if it was possible to just sail over to America and maybe, she would be back. Wasn't it the way stories worked? But when she had first stepped into the sea, wasn't suicide her intention? The thoughts were overwhelming, almost too hard to bear because some part of her knew that if a conclusion was made, she would truly be lost to America. Stranded in England.

* * *

One of her duties in the house was to go into town with Lady Margaret and get some daily provisions, which wasn't much, and tools for the garden that was blooming with flowers. They were herbs to be exact. Rose groaned, having less than five hours of sleep because she was busy crying. Blood whores were very common during that time and men had watched them passed salaciously.

"Young lady, if a person did not see your face, he might think of you as an old lady who groans too much." Her chided tone was affectionate and warm brown eyes had watched her in a very motherly way her words had not.

"Seriously, Margaret, you're too uptight. Loosen up a bit."

Rose's voice measured hers, playful and teasing.

Margaret just glared at her and shook her head. She had told Rose to call her full title, but she had always been disrespectful and too wild for her good. She had never understood where this girl had come from, and her accent was evidently of some foreign land. Realising that she had not even a penny in her pocket, probably washed away by the sea or too soaked to use, she had accepted her in their small but very cooperative and friendly group of women dhampirs.

Blood whores had lined the street, looking over for some rich moroi crossing over the town. Rose despised them for who they are, incapable of feeding themselves by labour or through some legal ways. The blood whores were not illegal, mind you, but they seemed too disgraceful and cheap of a job.

Even through her thick clothing, it couldn't really hide her figure or obscure it. (Rose had secretly trimmed about two inches from the bottom of her bodice to bring the waistline up to the narrowest part of her torso, giving the perception that she had a slimmer waist.) Men leered and some openly watched, which she later learnt was very, very rude and impolite to do to a woman with freedom and not under anyone.

Rose watched the flow of people around her as Lady Margaret took a look at a few cloths on display. The feeling crept into her heart once again at this strangeness, this place that she had no idea of. Time-travelling, was it even possible? Unless she was stranded at some asylum shaped to look like a town and being all dramatic with all these old-fashioned dressing, she was sure there was no other explanation.

She forced the constant pricking of tears to disappear, hoping that she would, maybe, woke up and realized all was just a dream. Blink. Again. This dream seemed too real for her, blamed it on good imagination. A movement at the corner of her eyes caught her attention as she watched a man, very plainly dressed, was suspiciously glancing all around, focusing his attention at somewhere beside her.

All that was beside her was Lady Margaret and, of course the woman selling the fabrics. She glanced around; trying not to look too weird or it will catch the thief's attention. He was definitely an amateur, with looks and all. His hair was mussed, unlike the usual proper of the male here, many having closed cropped hair. He was neither wearing hat or was having his greasy black hair tied back in a strap.

His walk was unstable too; and it was when he kept coming their way did she finally get where he was aiming at. Lady Margaret, still bend over at the waist, which wasn't very ladylike, had her coin pouch ready at hand to pay. The man attacked, his knee bowing, preparing to grab it and run. Rose swept the pouch in her hand, interrupting Lady Margaret in her speech with the woman, and then never thought that the man would so openly assault her. Perhaps she had been too trusting that the conduct of the people here would be too conserve and regard this act as humiliation, therefore not even attempting it.

His jump at Rose was somehow successful, grabbing the pouch and ran off. Rose flushed then, adrenaline pumping through her blood, and she once again felt the rush of fighting and protecting again. She ran, uncared of how foolish and imprudent she would look. Rising up her simple gown, she grabbed a short simple blade that she had taken from the household.

She cursed as she hurried after him, the people a blur to her, and then with a flick, she aimed at the guy and struck. He was very fortunate because as he was turning to an alleyway, away from the main street, the blade nailed him right at the interval. A few drops of blood flowed, and the man let out a scream.

The thief glared at Rose and made a frantic attempt to get himself unattached.

"Mother effin bastard."

He was a dhampir, surprisingly. He could still yank the knife from the knife right out of his shirt from this angle. His arm reached back and Rose grabbed his arm, twisting it and then heard a satisfying 'pop' sound. The man swore at her, but the precautions were not done yet; she had yet finished off his legs and right arm.

"Stop Rose, you'll invite trouble this way." But the rush was too exhilarating, she couldn't stop. She resisted the arm to just squeeze his neck, but inflicted some pain upon the man's legs. His limbs wobbled and with a scratching sound, his cloth was torn. The thief was too bloody and hurt to do anything but cry, instead to curses he had gone to pleading.

Lady Margaret swooped down and grabbed the purse, her lips pursed and her frown deepening.

"You've destroyed whatever reputation I have tried to build for you. Even in this rural town, women aren't supposed to go throwing and what is that, a knife onto a man's back!"

"But he stole your pouch, aren't you in the least grateful?" Rose was angry, no, she was bloody annoyed, what in the world was this lady thinking?

Lady Margaret opened her mouth as though to rebuked but close it again.

"I appreciate the effort. But don't do this again. I am a healer, not s-some hooligan out having people attacking villagers, even if he was at fault."

Rose rolled her eyes, her lips trembling with anger.

"But the deed's done, isn't it?"

She expected a scolding or something like that, but was surprised when she was met with silence. Rose looked up, and was given a brief hug. She was rendered speechless to even respond.

"Thank you, child. But don't risk yourself like this again." It wasn't much a risk, but probably a dent to whatever existing reputation she had. Suddenly, in Lady Margaret's arms, Rose felt a warming starting at her heart. Being here didn't seemed too scary anymore.

* * *

Author's Confessions:

The faulty on my computer proved to be too serious that a new one was required. Which means, i've lost all my documents and had to install almost everything. Exams had finished, though results weren't very much what i had wanted, i guess it was still passable. I hope life has been kind on you readers.

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real person, places, or works are purely coincidental. Any work very much resembling Richelle Mead or A.E Moorat work is not mine but theirs.

Oh, and thanks for the reviews! ADrian would appear much later, or else the plotline would be very weird.


	3. Chapter 3

**Cruel Seduction**

**Chapter Three**

Rose Hathaway groaned out loud in her dreamland. "Not again!" This night, she was the slave in her dream.

She could feel arms holding her in her sleep and felt contended.

Everything was good.

He would then kiss her nape softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his sweet mouth, whispering endearments and all the things he wanted to do to her.

Then, she would lie back and looked up at his eyes.

His arms then turn her around.

"Didn't I tell you to wear that undergown?"

He would scold her, a look of annoyance flashing across his face as he recalled what she was wearing last night.

Rose would bend her head in a look of submission and bite her lip as she awaits her punishment.

Master has a very dominating nature, Rose thought.

"Now you're upset?" His smooth skin was soft on her face; truly a man who did no hard chore.

He tipped her face up with his hands, his expression unreadable.

She glanced up, her eyes shining with tears.

She didn't want to disappoint him.

"I'm sorry Master." Rose stole a look at him, afraid that he will be unforgiving this day and punish her.

Of course, Master always says the punishments will be pleasurable for her.

She still wants to be able to stand and walk the next day though.

His emerald green eyes were the last she remembered from her dream.

* * *

The tears were coming.

Shoulders were hunched and drawn tight. Throat constricted and eyes averted, and here was the fear.

In the daylight she was able to resist the temptation, the sunlight a silent and warm protector.

But when the dark knight came and slew the white, the moon a solemn face watching, Rose Hathaway could resist it no longer.

She wanted to die. She was mentally sick, ascertain that her mind had constructed a well-elaborated plan to fool her, or, this hypothesis she much prefer; for not being able to take the pain of losing her love, she surrendered to insanity.

She wondered who could be sure that it was love. Thinking back about Dimitri, she tried to grasp the reaching hands of feelings, the emotions she had once taken hold of. Now, it just flew, higher and higher, till she could no longer feel them. Who could blame her for forgetting? When loneliness was all that accompany you, who could judge her? His love was not her love, her love vice versa.

Then, as of routine, she would recall the face of Lissa. She was a sweet friend, always helping never keeping anything for herself. It was perhaps her altruistic behaviour that made Rose feels parsimonious as she remembered times when she felt reluctance tugging at her to just focus at her love. It was rather interesting at how her mind had automatically rectified that noun to _ex-lover_.

Scratching at her head, the moonlight shedding some truth and reality upon her, she winced at the pain locking their manacles on her exposed flesh. She had cut her nails too short. There were no nail clippers, and she hated the prospect of chewing them. It was disconcerting how people had managed to not be disgusted when maintaining contact with their nails using their mouth. Imagine the millions bacteria stuck on your mouth and said person not even envisaging it.

There, the dread driving at her just as waves crashed to the shore. Would the waves be willing, or would it be just a pawn in a game no one but the maker understands? She _dreaded_ the thought of not being able to conjure the image of Mason. She dreaded forgetting about her friends. She had wanted to die remembering them, but now all hope was gone. She would not die peacefully. She tried harder every day, from screaming at the top of her lungs to the sea, to just crying pleadingly at the One above.

Tonight, the moon rider seemed to be in agreement with her. If meeting Valhalla was through the sea, then she would die again walking through it. She had donned on her only 21st century outfit. It consisted of tanks and short shorts. Casual and utterly tarty in this ancient age. The air seemed to be lighter, and as she breathed in deeply, she thought about her lack of a love life.

Wading through the waters was easy; going through it was the hard part. She felt the waters seeped in and touched her skin. She didn't flinch why cool air brushed past her; instead she looked at the blackest part of the sea. There was no lighthouse here, yet she swore she saw a glint of some wood burning. Her attention was divided, death or spend a life haunting her.

She needed something to hold on to. She couldn't live a life of empty promises-Dimitri- and a reality based on delusions aka 16th century. Dreams of a man were too much for her too. Relief from all these were what she needed. How will heaven be like? Beautiful, white gold floors? Would she walked on clouds and taste the sparkles, mysteries? She wanted to trudge and continue, yet she was holding back. No, she couldn't die. No...No! Suicides were for cowards, never for Rose Hathaway.

But life was miserable; without any anchor, it was hard to survive past anything. She felt bored with life. So what is holding her back-?

She continued on, misery spreading through her just like blood splashing through veins. Tears now sprang free; she had got only one life to live, but this was all she was rewarded. Rose never killed, stole, or _lies_. Perhaps just a tiny winy bit. Could that tiny bit land her into such trouble?

A voice called out, distant and untouchable. The despair in her heart weighed her down, just like rocks that had fallen into calm waters. Hope was a distant light, echoing all around her yet not resurrecting the wilful youth in her. There was a sudden commotion, the loud tapping of footfalls. Not once did she turn back; she stared right ahead and tried to ignore it. It was getting louder now, all heavy marching and silent grunts.

Annoyed, she started to turn around, her mind flickering over recent events. At least my ears are not failing me, she thought dolefully. Her moods were running around all places, and such things like eyesight or good hearing was beyond her.

"Hey! My lady, please stop!" A disgruntled voice spoke out, She thought the voice was familiar and twisted around.

* * *

Author's Confessions:

Sorry for having been MIA. I know this chapter is short but forgive me.

Lydia M.


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